


Forebearance

by Alabaster_Crow



Category: Hellraiser & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 09:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alabaster_Crow/pseuds/Alabaster_Crow
Summary: Forebearance: A refraining from the enforcement of something (such as a debt, right, or obligation) that is due.Author’s Note: (Caution, this note contains spoilers for The Scarlet Gospels directly below this line).In the Scarlet Gospels, Norma dies after being raped by the Hell Priest. Why? This story is my small attempt, with apologies to Clive Barker, to provide a lead in to the Scarlet Gospels. It also takes place before the events of Hellraiser: The Toll, but is not cannon.Warning: Rated Explicit for good reason.





	Forebearance

Forebearance 

Kirsty slowly made her way down the winding corridors of hell in search of the one male in all of creation whose attention she now craved. He'd never betrayed her, always kept his side of their bargains, and seemed to actually appreciate her. Indeed, he'd waited many years for her, this would-be paramour, and the entire time he'd made sure she knew of his desire for her flesh. 

The Hell Priest, or the Cold Man, as she'd come to think of him; the one with nails pounded into his symmetrically scarred head; Oh, how he'd wooed her; seduced her as only a demon such as he could. He'd piqued her interest, and then stayed away. He'd appeared in her dreams, whispering in her ear, his cool lips nearly grazing her skin… and then rarely materialized in reality.

The only times she'd been able to actually meet his bottomless ebony gaze, or feel his breath stir strands of her hair, had been on those very rare occasions when the box had been opened by herself or some suicidal idiot in her presence. 

And each time they'd met, he'd spoken more possessively, and promised to show her such things... teach her such things… if only she would submit herself to him.

Each time she'd denied him his desire, and he'd chided her, amusement clearly writ in his features, that she was his already.

The years had flow by, and she'd remained in a state of deep despair, both fearing, and perversely anticipating another confrontation with him.

She'd spent a great deal of her time running; from him, from relationships, and from herself. She'd moved often, and avoided romantic entanglements until she'd finally met a man she trusted; Trevor. What a catastrophe that had turned out to be!

The Cold Man must have really had a melt down when he'd learned that she'd married, but she'd often wondered why he'd waited years before influencing Trevor, and manipulating him into presenting her with a lament configuration.

She still vividly remembered opening the box, and again standing in the demon's presence; the heady mix of fear, and excitement she'd felt! The sound of THAT voice softly saying her name, had made her weak in the knees, even as her bladder had threatened to give way.

And the way he'd calmly regarded her; his expression having made it perfectly clear that he was very pleased to see her once more.

That high had been followed by a worsening of the downward spiral that was her life. After she'd murdered Trevor, his accomplice, and his playmates, and only then, she'd realized she'd fallen into a trap. Her anger, and hurt over Trevor’s murderous betrayal had led her to make an unthinkable deal with her adversary, and in doing so she'd played right into his hands. 

She'd saved her life, but damned her soul...

She'd spent the ensuing years in hiding, keeping a low profile, and isolating herself from society. She'd worked menial jobs, and once again started moving often. 

Then there were the alcohol-fueled one night stands; far too many of them. At first the sex had been cathartic; the pleasure helping her to forget, the alcohol dulling the remaining pain. She'd finally learned what she liked, and then to ask for what she wanted. Afterwards, her lovers would dress, and leave.

No fuss, no muss.

But, eventually, things had taken a bizarre turn: In the middle of being fucked by her latest one-nighter, she'd briefly thought about her pinned demon, as she often had during sex. What would it be like to be possessed by someone so different, but so masculine, who desired you, and promised to show you the true meaning of pleasure? 

She'd felt a strange wave of vertigo, and opened her eyes to see HIS face had replaced her lover’s. He'd hovered over her in the dark, buried to the hilt within her, with her legs wrapped around HIS narrow, naked hips. 

While she was frozen with shock, he'd leaned down, and sucked on her left nipple, and then given it a sudden, painful nip.

She'd cried out, and begun to flail as panic overrode her shock. When she'd tried to push him off her, he'd immediately pinned her arms above her head. He was too heavy for her to buck off, and thus, she'd found herself completely at his mercy.

Looking down at her, he'd made a decidedly sexual sound in the face of her humiliation, and then sighed, “Oh Kirsty, please do continue to struggle; I find the stimulation exhilarating.”

She'd instantly frozen, earning a knowing, if disappointed look from her illicit visitor.

He'd gyrated his hips against her, and leaned down to lick her ear, before whispering into it, “You blush so beautifully! Tell me; why do you bother with these sad excuses for men? You belong to me, and you know it!”

“N-n-n-n-No!” she'd finally managed to get out, trembling with fear. “You can't be here… I didn't summon you!” 

She'd gasped in surprise, as he’d withdrawn, and then suddenly thrust himself deeply within her once more. That was when her last hope that it was all just a bad dream, had evaporated. Oh lord but he felt magnificent; so thick that any movement was a symphony of stimulation, but there was something not quite right either. Something had dragged against her inner walls when he'd moved. Was he pierced? 

There was no way she could have imagined such a foreign sensation.

He'd murmured near her ear, his naked chest now pressed against her breasts, his blood smeared over her. “Your desire for me drew me to you, and, as you see, I am more than agreeable to fulfilling your needs!”

“Get off of me!” she'd screeched, “or do you think that rape will convince me to accompany you back to hell?” 

He'd withdrawn himself… slowly. “Up until now you've not cared who mounted you, so I hardly see why my flesh should be so reviled.” He'd almost appeared to be hurt. Unhanding her, he'd gripped her chin roughly, and growled, “These men hold no reverence for your flesh. Why do you degrade yourself by allowing them to use you, when you are worthy of so much more?”

“What; you mean you?” she'd snapped, actually regretting the loss of his flesh. Her struggles against him had absolutely no effect; it was as though his arms were made of steel. “What makes you think you're any better?”

He'd laughed outright, his head thrown back, and his body shaking with his amusement. When he'd finally stopped, he'd fixed her with a look both tender, and amused. “Oh, but I am better than all of them, for I know you as none of them ever will. As to my qualifications; I am a Prince of Hell. You alone are my match. We are worthy of each other.”

She'd stared up at him, surprised that he'd actually produced a verbal resume.

Then he'd released her chin, and grasped her throat, before kissing her fiercely, and deeply. The darkness had risen up to take her, but just before she'd lost consciousness, he'd pulled his mouth away, and she'd heard him hiss, “You will cease your whoring; be warned that in future I'll no longer tolerate such an imprudent lack of self respect from you!”

She'd awakened just after dawn, and blinked in confusion. At first, she'd tried to convince herself that it had only been a nightmare, but then she'd smelled the faint odor of frankensence, and leather lingering in her bedroom.

It was HIS scent…. 

Sitting up in alarm, she'd found herself on blood splattered sheets, her chest smeared with dried blood. The man she'd picked up the night before was missing; his clothes still on the floor where he'd shucked them. Had he found the box, and opened it?

Running to her closet, she'd discovered that her Lament Configuration was still hidden safely away in a plastic bag behind her clothing.

The demon had not only visited her without being summoned, but he'd apparently also claimed a soul. How was that possible? One thing was certain; he knew about her sexual encounters, and was, it seemed, a jealous suiter. 

Her horror, and guilt over the possible fate of her missing lover was enough to outweigh the thrill of any future liaison. And then again; there was also the threat the demon had made...

It was only much later, once she'd stopped shaking, that she'd showered, and seen the gauges his nails had left on her chin, and cheeks. Quite some time later, she'd collected the missing man's clothing, intent upon burning all of it. That was when she'd discovered a large switchblade, and ball gag in one of his pockets. When she'd started to strip the bed, she'd discovered a pair of handcuffs hidden under one of the pillows. Shaking with reaction, she'd stumbled sideways to collapse into her oversized arm chair. 

She’d realized two things at once; that the man she'd brought home had been intent upon harming her, and that the Cold Man had entered her world in order to save her life. 

She hadn't slept for days after the incident, and had sworn off both men, and booze; thereafter remaining as chaste as a nun.

\-------------------------

At forty three she’d found herself lonely, isolated, single, and newly diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. That was when the nightime whispers increased, as the pinned demon began invading her dreams on a nightly basis. 

Each night he'd saved her from her darkest nightmares, then demanded her affections, running his cold metal knives teasingly over her skin, and seducing her with his deep, resonate voice. Yet, each time she'd responded, and reached for him, he'd vanished, while his voice whispered a final seductive time, “I await you; come to me.”

And then that day came; that horrible day when Tiffany’s body had been found nude in the river. Even though Kirsty hadn't seen her in many years, it still hit her hard. Her last connection in all the world was gone. 

She'd stayed away from her in the hopes of sparing her the curse that followed her. They would exchange cards, and emails on rare occassions, but had not actually seen each other in over a decade.

In the end it was all for naught; a depraved, evil man had simply taken what he wanted, and then discarded her as though she was trash.

Kirsty felt so very guilty for having squandered time she could have set aside for Tiffany. Despondent, she'd spent the day both crying, and retching in turn, for her cancer had become a daily torment. 

Finally, collapsing on the sofa, she'd fallen into an exhausted sleep, and her pale, cold stalker was immediately with her, regarding her with cool, dark eyes as she'd cried.

“Why do you still resist?” he'd asked softly. “Life is precarious; look what has befallen dear Tiffany. Do not let yourself slip away as well.”

At that she'd wiped her eyes, and leaned in close to him. Then, meeting his gaze, and well aware that she was overstepping, she'd slowly brought her hand up to his face. At the last second she'd paused, and then, surprised that he'd remained still, she'd hesitantly touched his cheek.

He'd allowed it. 

Slowly she'd traced her fingertips over his features, delighted when he'd sighed, evidently enjoying the contact, rather than merely tolerating it.

“In the many long years after my death, would you even remember me?” she'd finally mused aloud.

He'd answered immediately, his eyes capturing her gaze, and his voice conveying his conviction; “I would mourn your loss for all eternity.”

They'd stared at each other for a long moment, and something suddenly clicked in place…

“You saved me from Trevor, didn't you?” she suddenly asked. “You let me think that our bargain was my idea, but that was what you wanted me to do all along, wasn't it? That's why you set him up”

The next thing she'd known, she’d awakened to the feel of his hand on her shoulder, and the sight of him standing in her apartment, the twilight streaming through the window at his back. 

Once again, her apartment smelled of frankensence, and leather, but also of the unmistakable underlying stink of hell. The odor was always present when the gateway was open, but only linguered for a short while after it was closed. 

The odor was already dissipating. 

She'd sat up with a start. “How are you here?” she'd asked. “I didn't open the box!”

“In opening the box twice, and allowing me into your dreams, you've weakening the veil between our worlds” he'd explained. “The box is nearby, adding to veil’s instability. That is how I was able to enter your world, and personally manipulate your dearly departed husband. It is also how I was able to dispose of the murdering filth you last chose to fuck.”

“I think we both know who was last inside me,” she'd snapped.

He'd smiled ever so slightly, but said nothing.

“Back to the topic of Trevor: answer the question; you saved my life, didn't you?” she'd pressed, suddenly certain of the answer she would receive.

He'd looked pleased. “There are rules in hell, Kirsty,” he’d explained. “We may not interfere with the consecrated bond of marriage. I was therefore unable to directly liberate you from your greatest mistake.”

“Yeah, I'm certain you would have enjoyed making him disappear like you did my last lover,” she'd muttered.

He'd removed his hand, and instead gripped her chin, forcing her to maintain eye contact. “He was no lover,” he snapped, clearly angry, “nor was he, or the others you chose, worthy of you. As for dear Trevor; I might have disposed of him at any time prior to your vows.” 

She hadn't been at all surprised to hear it. “Why didn't you?” 

“I knew that he would betray you,” he'd said, gently stroking her chin with his thumb. “He smelled of lust, deceit, and dissatisfaction. I chose not to act in order to teach you a simple lesson…”

The demon had released her chin, and then run his icy fingertips down her cheek. “You belong to me; If you refused to recognize this before your beloved husband betrayed you, then you surely knew it to be true after we made our agreement,” he’d husked. “When I learned that dear Trevor planned on killing you, I presented him with a neater way of disposing of you, and in foolishly presenting you the Lament Configuration, he unknowingly brought us back together.” 

He'd released her chin, and bent down, bringing his face closer to hers, then regarded her through lowered eyelids, his expression, for once, soft. “You already knew of his dalliances. You already knew he wanted you dead, after all, he'd given you the box. All you lacked were the details, and the motivation to follow through with your revenge. I merely supplied the missing elements, and waited for you to make me a better offer. You did not disappoint.” His voice had became passionate as he continued, “You were always meant to be mine, Kirsty. I am your future; trust in me, and you will never fear anything again.”

She'd felt as though she was suffocating. He'd never lied to her, never betrayed her. He'd saved her life, such as it was, twice. No matter that each encounter had tainted more of her soul, his words rang true, and she was so tired of… everything.

He'd continued to regard her calmly, as she'd lost herself in the bottomless depths of his wide-set eyes. She'd never before noticed their beauty, nor his long, thick, pale eyelashes, nor how shapely his lips were. For the first time, he no longer looked like a monster; it was as though her eyes had suddenly been opened, and she was truly seeing him.

He had a beauty all his own.

“I’m done running,” she'd finally breathed; her words having caused him to tilt his head, and fix her with a rare, pleased smile. “I’ll leave this place with you, but only on my terms.”

“Another bargain, Kirsty?” he'd asked, a faint smirk twisting his lips.

“Yes,” she'd answered, simply.

He’d nodded, and then murmured, “What is it that you propose?”

She'd continued to look him over, as she thought it all through. “First, I need to know exactly what you intend,” she'd finally asked.

His eyes had shone brightly. “You shall be reborn to my world, and I shall personally instruct you in our ways; teaching you such things, such truths as you could never imagine!” he’d said, his voice betraying his excitement at the thought. “Once you've undergone the transformation, you shall be my most trusted associate, and my closest companion; forever!”

Her heart nearly burst out of her chest upon hearing the extent of his desires, but she composed her features, and instead narrowed her eyes at him. “I suppose that the personal instruction you mentioned involves pain, and ‘sweet suffering’?”

“Indeed.” He'd looked very pleased as he’d spoken. “To know your flesh in all its glory is my most fervent wish.”

Standing abruptly, she'd walked to the window, well aware that she was potentially watching her last sunset. 

A moment later he'd joined her; standing close behind. “Well?” he'd asked.

“I wish to remain as I am; human. I have no desire to experience your teachings first hand,” she'd dared to tell him.

He’d been silent so long that she'd nearly turned to make sure he was still there. Then she'd felt his icy breath on the back of her neck. 

“You ask too much,” he’d snarled behind her ear. “You cannot join my order without experiencing first hand the tennents we hold dear, and this you may not do while mortal. Your demand is untenable.”

She'd remained silent, and unmoving until he'd finally grown inpatient, and spun her around. “Have you no better offer?” he'd asked, his teeth bared.

She'd placed her hands on his wide, strong shoulders. “I have one; teach me as I am. Let me decide when I'm ready for more. Accept my terms, and I will be your lover, as well as your companion,” she'd offered, daring to wrap her arms around him.

He'd frozen, going stiff as a board for several seconds, and that was when she'd boldly dared to kiss and nibble the only part of his neck not covered by his collar.

An odd, surprised sound had escaped him, and to her relief, a few seconds later, he'd suddenly relaxed; her cue to continue to press her position. “I know first hand that you remember what it is to be a man.” 

She'd continued her assault on his neck, slowly moving up to his jawline, beneath the first row of pins. “You've made it very clear that you want my flesh, but we both know you want it wrapped around your cock... not sliced and on the floor. Accept me as I am, and we can be together.”

He'd stiffened at her remark, and remained silent for some time before finally replying, “What you are asking… is not without risk. Still, there may be a way to accomplish it.”

“Let's hear it.” She'd begun working her way towards his ear.

“You may accompany me as you wish, so long as you agree to eventually submit, and shed your mortality. This is an honor that has never before been granted to any living human,” he'd explained, and then groaned in a very low register as she’d begun sucking upon his earlobe.

She'd lifted her face away to stare at him, and found his eyes still closed, his mouth slightly parted in enjoyment of her attentions. “And what would happen then, if I still refused?” she'd asked.

His eyes had snapped open, pinning her with a stern look, even as he placed a hand on her shoulder, and gently put some space between them.

“Then you would truly die,” he'd warned, sternly. “I would have no say in this; you would become one of the damned. You should also know that I risk much by consenting to your terms; Leviathan will not be pleased by my decision.” He'd tilted his head, and looked at her warily. “Do we have an agreement?”

She'd thought it through, and having realized that it was the best offer she could hope for, had finally said, “Yes, but there is one more thing…”

He'd smirked. “You want the one who killed Tiffany.” At her nod, he'd continued, “Very well; I accept.”

==============

The Cold Man had concentrated but a short while, and was easily able to ferret out the killer. He'd given her all the specifics, and then, to her amazement, walked straight through her window, having returned to hell to await her final summons. 

Kirsty had left her wallet, phone and anything else that tied her to her mortal life in her apartment. Stuffing all her cash into her pockets, she'd snatched up a knife and the lament configuration, and then headed out into the night.

Arriving in Tiffany’s home town three hours later, she'd quickly made her way to the killer’s condominium. To her delight, the idiot had hidden the key on the front stoop, under a flower pot, and she'd gained easy access to his domicile.

He'd awakened to find one hand cuffed to the bedframe, and Kirsty sitting in a side chair smirking at him.

“Who the fuck are you?!” he'd yelled.

She'd laughed at him. “We had a mutual acquaintance. You might remember her; pretty blond woman named Tiffany?”

He'd threatened her then, promising all manner of retribution, and been surprised as hell when she rose and clocked him brutally in the head with the lament configuration. 

It had shut him up long enough for her to explain the situation; if he solved her puzzle box she would set him free. If not, she would kill him. Before he could question her resolve, she'd pulled her knife and stabbed him in the foot, just to emphasize the consequences should he continue to delay.

He'd agreed after drawing further reassurances from her that she'd let him free once the box was opened.  
It took him several hours, but finally, Lemerchand’s box had sprung to life in his hands and opened.

It was Chatterer who’d gripped the murderer’s arm tightly as she'd freed him from the cuffs.

It was Chatterer who'd dragged the man away, as he'd cursed her, and fought all the way to hell, while the female Cenobite, and very large Cenobite followed close behind. 

Then, the Cold Man, who'd watched the proceedings silently, yet with a critical eye, had retrieved the Lament Configuration, and offered her his hand. With barely a pause she'd taken it, her fingers quickly chilled by his touch, and accompanied her demon suiter to hell.

===============

The scumbag murderer had quickly been made the subject for her first lessons. In fact, many weeks of daily torment had been meted out upon his flesh. The demon, whom she'd learned held the title of Hell Priest, was a patient, efficient instructor, and Kirsty an apt pupil where Tiffany’s killer was concerned. Her inventive, vindictive improvisation with the Priest’s tools had earned her his rare praise.

However, Kirsty’s revenge, taken out upon the murder’s flesh, had turned out to be nothing compared to the punishment that Hell’s favored Priest had meted out upon his mind, and soul. He'd made the man dredge up, and face every evil thing he'd done in his life, and tormented him with images of who he might have been, had he acted in a different manner.

The Priest had allowed her to see it all in her mind, exactly as he did, and she'd found herself humbled by both his abilities, and his knowledge. Surely, this was the definition of hell; to see the good one might have done, the person one might have been, had a kinder path been taken.

Eventually, his usefullness at an end, the priest had flayed the remainder of the murderer’s flesh from his bones, and left the scraps for his chattering canine. He'd made certain that the killer’s soul was relegated to the deepest, lowest pit, where he would struggle with his fellow murderers forever.

With Tiffany’s murder avenged, she'd wondered how much time she had left before she had to accept rebirth. Her paramour seemed in no rush; he'd remained patient, and non-judgemental. All-in-all, he'd seemed very different from the driven, single-minded demon she’d thought she knew. He was feared by his subordinates, but also respected by them. He knew when to praise them, and when to make them tremble with a mere disapproving glance. And it turned out that he hadn't lied about being a prince; whenever he was about, excited whispers erupted from those who watched him pass by. Many bowed before him, and the voices of the damned rose up in the background, their cries sounding like processional music.

In the time she'd spent in hell, she'd learned her way around the small area of the labyrinth where the Hell Priest and his most trusted followers were most likely to be found. She'd also become acquainted with their work; The collection of supplicants, their torture, and eventual placement in their own private versions of hell. Some few were considered worthy, and made accolades; trained in the way of the Gash, they were sworn to eventually take their vows, and be transformed into Cenobites. 

There was no refusing such an honor.

Kirsty also learned that the Cenobites’ ‘daily’ routines were only interrupted at those times when the lament configurations were opened, and a ‘collection’ was to be made.Otherwise, they spent time at worship, in private reflection, teaching, learning, and plying their artistry with their tools of torment. 

There was no day or night in the labyrinth, however every soul there seemed to sense some sort of daily cycle. There were times when they would all retire to their individual cells, and other times when it was permissible for them to venture out to do as they pleased. Some fornicated with each other, or those new accolades not considered to be too lowly. Some had hobbies of a sort; making tools, inventing new forms of torture, collecting earthly objects, etc… 

It seemed that the Hell Priest was above all that; he prefered to walk the labyrinth when not in the presence of Leviathan, taking in the state of things, and personally seeing to the ongoing torment of his favorite souls.

On occassion, he'd appeared, seemingly out of the ether, to check on her, and often he was accompanied by his beast. The existence of the chattering beast greatly disconcerted Kirsty. What could a poor dog have done to have earned it this afterlife? It was one of many questions that she did not yet dare to ask.  
Such knowledge was reserved only for the members of the order of the Gash, as she was often reminded.

As far as her new circumstances were concerned, Kirsty felt very nearly content. She no longer lived each day in fear, and after seeing first hand how life played out (or was it unlife?), for the order, she no longer dreaded death.

The only thing missing was her demon. Since she'd arrived he'd acted only as her mentor, and guide; never touching her, and no longer wooing her. Once, she'd even reached for his hand, only to have had him snatch it away before she could grasp it. He'd then quickly withdrawn.

She'd had to admit to being confused. Had it all just been an act meant to ensnare her? If she was being honest with herself, she’d actually been crushed, and somewhat heartbroken. 

When had she formed such a strong attachment to the pinned demon?

And then, quite suddenly, the Priest had vanished; he was no longer seen anywhere. He'd simply disappeared.

As her worry over his absence had grown, she'd begun to hear rumors that he'd been chastised severely by Lord Leviathan; so much so, that he was laid up in his cell for the duration of his recovery.

Her heart had sunk; she'd remembered him saying that Leviathan would not be pleased with him. When she'd tried to ask some of the Cenobites about the Priest, they'd gone silent, and fixed her with belligerent scowls. She’d become frightened as they'd begun to circle around her, their tools drawn and ready to maim.

“His troubles are all your fault!” one had spat, quickly nicking her in the thigh with her blade.

Kirsty had prepared to defend herself, knowing that she could not hope to survive a fight with even one of them; she was, after all, still mortal.

Just then, Chatterer had made a surprise appearance, and snapped his teeth at the others so loudly, that they'd quickly withdrawn. Turning back to her, he'd patted her on the shoulder, as though consoling her, before lifting his finger to his mouth, signifying that she should be quiet.

She got the message loud and clear.

Prudently, she'd put some distance between herself, and her fellows, choosing instead to return to her chambers.

As she'd arrived, Chatterer had reappeared, this time accompanied by the female Cenobite she remembered from her first encounters with the Gash. The female had addressed her, apparently doing the talking for them both.

“Kirsty,” she'd sneered. “I am here on behalf of our leader, and not out of any desire to help you.”

She'd somehow manged to sneer back at her. “No, we couldn't have that, now could we?”

Chatterer had gotten her attention at that point, and subtlety cautioned her to hold her tongue.

The female had sighed in a most un-Cenobite-like way, and then continued, “We are aware of his unnatural desire for your mortal flesh, and he is now suffering because of it. It hasn't been the first time, either, now has it?”

“I'm not certain that I know what…” she'd began, but was quickly cut off.

“We all suffered when he chose to fight for you and Tiffany,” she'd continued. “Do not even try to say that you do not recall that! It was all because of his obsession with you that Lord Leviathan sought to replace him in the first place!”

“What?!” she'd gasped as all the pieces started to come together. Channard had worn the same rank as the Priest; six squares of flesh, arranged in a row on each side of his chest, flayed, and intertwined with his leather chest piece. Why hadn't she realized earlier that he'd been created to destroy, and replace the pinned demon?

“Ah, I see that you finally comprehend.” The female had interrupted her thoughts. 

Kirsty had stared her down, as something else occurred to her. “Then you owe me, and Tiffany your lives! If we hadn't destroyed that abomination, then Leviathan never would have resurrected you.”

The female had been livid, and drawn her sickle. “You dare?” Only Chatterer, restraining her hand had saved Kirsty a nasty slice. “In the face of Leviathan’s anger that day, many of our order were destroyed!” the female continued. “Our leader was nearly destroyed; but was eventually restored by his own hand; not by your actions!”

“You're going to have to explain that to me,” she sighed. “I've no idea of what you're talking about.”

The female calmed herself with some effort. “The Priest was not destroyed; he'd somehow clawed his way into your world, and then back here. Given the magnitude of his efforts, and the large number of souls he claimed during his time on earth, Leviathan restored him to his former rank.”

She'd sheathed her blade and slowly walked around Kirsty. “Yet, despite everything he suffered because of you, the Priest still pursued you. Even now, his flesh weeps for you, and why? Because you selfishly insisted that he break the rules; allow you to remain mortal!”

Chatterer had backed her up by nodding and gesturing to her that she'd made a big mistake.

The female had continued her diatribe, “Our leader has been ordered to destroy you once he's sufficiently healed. That time has come, and gone; He hides in his cell because he cannot bring himself to end you.”

Kirsty had felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. “What can we do for him?” she'd asked, her voice wavering.

“We are going to do nothing,” the female had replied. “You, however, are going to go to him, and make this right; go back on your agreement. Put him from you. Make him despise you. Set him free!”

She'd suddenly realized that the female coveted the Hell Priest, and tamped down her anger over the thought. “You're here on his behalf,” she hissed, “but really; you just want me gone. Too bad you can't harm me without him turning on you, huh?”

Chatterer had shaken his head emphatically, even as the female had answered, “We know him well enough to know that doing such a thing would earn our own destruction at his hands.”

Chatterer had pointed down the corridor, even as the female had continued, “Go to him now. Save him!” So saying, she'd stepped aside and given Kirsty a good shove in the proper direction.

==============

And so she'd found herself hurrying down the corridor in search of her tragic prince. Her heart was beating wildly; she feared so greatly for them both. She didn't know when she'd come to care so much about him, only that she'd grown to admire, and want him. His dedication, self-restraint, power, and standing all adding to her respect for him. Demon he might be, but he’d once been an honorable man, and some of that had remained with him. She'd also grown to see that he served an important function in the grand scheme of things. 

They had finally come to the moment when their fates would be decided.She had to find some way to save them both, but she had to wonder if he might already have a plan; in fact, the more she thought about it, the more she knew that he was likely way ahead of her on that front.

Arriving at the ornate, carved doorway to his cell, she dispensed with knocking (after all, who expects privacy on hell?), and slowly pushed the door open, peeking inside.

His chamber was larger, and more lavishly furnished than she would have expected; a large bed covered in a thick, blue brocade bedspread stood against one wall. Very old carpets overlapped to cover the stone floor, and there was a small table and chairs in one corner. On the table sat her puzzle box. In another corner sat a large, stone chair… or was it a throne?  
Her Cold Man sat upon that throne; his elbows set upon the arms, his hands clasped beneath his chin, and his eyes staring a hole through her.

Realizing that he was well aware of her presence, she straightened up, entered the room, and then pushed to door closed behind her. For a long moment she stood there with her back against the door while they stared at each other, and then, understanding that he was waiting for an explanation for her intrusion, she said, “I got your message,” and at his continued silence, added, lamely,”Have you been waiting long?”

“Far too long,” he answered.

She panicked. “I came as soon as I received word!”

“I am speaking of your failure to commit,” he clarified. “Yet your presence within my chambers would suggest that perhaps you no longer have... ‘cold feet’?” Despite the humorous tone, she could see that he was not amused. 

She began slowly advancing towards him. “I did agree to be your lover. Isn't that commitment?” she teased.

He narrowed his eyes, and continued to stare at her, his expression giving nothing away. “It is not,” he answered, gravely. 

She approached until she stood directly before him, and although he raised his gaze in order to maintain eye contact; he remained still as a statue, and as silent.

“Well, what would a demon know of that anyway?” she dared to ask. 

He looked affronted, but did not respond. The awkward silence stretched on too long, until she thought to ask, “Are you well?”

“Well enough.”

Again, they stared silently at each other, until she felt compelled to get to the point. “So, are you going to ‘destroy me’?”

To her amazement, he reached out, and gathered her to him, so that she found herself straddling his lap!

“Kirsty...,” he breathed, his voice rumbling in a low register, before grasping her hair, and pulling her head back. “I would never allow that.” She gasped loudly as he leaned in, and began nibbling the skin on her throat, even as his other hand ran down her back, and then firmly grasped her left buttock.

She found herself running her fingers over his scalp, between the nails, as she closed her eyes and thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of his cold lips trailing across her neck. After a very short while, she was panting, and aroused beyond belief. The one and only time that they'd interacted intimately, they'd completely missed out on pretty much the entire act. She hadn't consented the last, and only time they'd interacted intimately; hadn't had the chance, but she wanted nothing more than to scream her willingness now.

Unfortunately, when she tried to grind against him, he stilled and pulled away. She found herself mesmerized by the heavily lidded onyx eyes that held her own.  
“Oh, child; I can smell your desire for me; your yearning,” he breathed, “however, we first have much to discuss.”

She bit her lip. “About Leviathan’s orders; why aren't you going to follow through?”

“You are mine, and mine alone,” he replied, gently urging her to get up, “I'll not allow any to part us.” 

Apparently, losing his patience, he unceremoniously pushed her off his lap. She landed hard on her rump, even as he came to his feet, and stared down at her. “We shall need to leave this place, and return to your home,” he continued, his voice hollow once more, his expression empty. “No delays.”

“And then what?” she asked. “Live happily ever after? Raise a family? Somehow I doubt that you'll be staying, so what is it that you're not telling me?”

His eyes narrowed with pleasure at her understanding. “Your intuition does you credit,” he replied, reaching down as quickly as a snake, and grasping her upper arm to haul her to her feet before him. “I must deliver you back to your home, where you shall be safe from Leviathan, and the Gash, and then I must return to face them, but first I shall demand that which you promised me.”

She gaped at him, her heart ready to burst. “I will honor our agreement,” she assured him. “But, why must you return to face The Gash?”

His eyes narrowed. “You see me, Kirsty; you know that my time on Earth is over. I may visit, but ever must I return to this place. When I return I shall endure my punishment. Your freedom shall be my consolation.”

“So that's it then?” she asked. “We're going to go our separate ways?”

He ran his hands over her arms. “That is not my desire. Know that I shall do what can be done so that we need not part ways permanently. Should my great work succeed, we shall be reunited.”

“You're great work?”

He nodded. “Those running the infernal machine have lost their way. They are nothing more than corrupt sycophants; charlatans. They shall all be deposed, and Leviathan shall be the first to fall!”

She gulped. “You're powerful enough to do that?”

“I've found a way in which to strengthen myself considerably,” he replied. “It will take some time, and involve unsanctioned visits to your world.”

She took some small comfort in that, but the thought of going back to her lonely existence, even for a short time, still crushed her. At least she would find solace in his arms for a short while. That thought gave her a thrill, but then suddenly reminded her that he'd recently been punished. 

She decided to bring it up, “I heard that you were severely punished because of me. Are you really alright?”

“Oh, Kirsty,” he leaned into her, and breathed near her ear, “it warms my cold flesh to hear such words of care from your lips… It would be best if I show you what I've suffered.” Spinning, he pushed her onto the stone throne, and pinned her there, one knee between her legs, one hand upon her chest. “Let us slake that burning curiosity of yours.”

Kirsty didn't know what she had expected, but it certainly hadn't been the offer of a free show. She groaned as he increased the pressure on her chest, and gritted her teeth. Panic began to set in, and she was about to struggle against him, when she saw how his expression had changed, and prudently stilled.  
For the first time in all the time that she'd known him, the Hell Priest actually looked upset; his forehead creased, and pulling at his pins, his mouth downturned in a frown. With his free hand, he moved his apron to the side, and then began hiking up his heavy leather vestments. “I might have had you at any time after you first summoned me,” he explained. “I could have taken you by force; made you my pet. What you mistook to be a drawn out haunting; a decades-long stalking, was actually forebearance on my part. That I should desire your mortal flesh in this way is a great sin indeed in the eyes of MY lord!”  
So saying, he managed to pull the garment up high enough to expose the truth to her, and grimly watched her reaction.

Her eyes went wide with shock; what had been done to his tender, pale flesh was monstrous!

He had an enormous Prince Albert piercing; the thick, closed capture ring sporting a large, round bearing. This, she suspected, was the piercing he'd already had when they'd previously coupled.

No, that was not the shameful punishment he'd recently endured. He'd been subjected to a most cruel, and punative embellishment; his foreskin pulled back, twisted, and pinned in place by an ampalling bar that horizontally pierced his member just behind the corona. That bar was not end-capped with the typical round studs, but rather with rotary arrangements of small, triangular razors. On either side, one blade was positioned to cut into him when he was aroused. His scrotum was cut and bleeding where his penis rested against it, and many, many partially healed cuts were evident anywhere on his flesh where those razors might have made contact.

No living person could survive a mating with this being who had once been a man, and it was beyond comprehension that even a Cenobite would enjoy such a thing. Kirsty swallowed hard, and met his gaze, to find that he was watching her warily.

“Since when is lust a sin in this place?” she managed to ask, her voice wavering with emotion. 

“It is not about lust, Kirsty,” he explained, dropping his hem. He released her, and stood. “No; I have been shackled to ensure my first loyalty is to my master.” His voice reverberated quietly, and his eyes hinted at his sorrow. 

As he began to turn away from her, she caught his hand, urging him to remain facing her. “How do we undo it? She asked, tears brimming in her eyes. “I'm sure you weren’t planning to kill me when we consumate our agreement.”

He tilted his head, and regarded her tears with some interest. “What was done can be undone, but at some great cost to me; and I would require your blood in order to heal quickly.”

Moving into his personal space, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and leaned into him, her ear pressed to his chest, “I'll help you in any way I can, but please, let's leave this place now,” she begged. “I'm as done with Leviathan as you are!”

He unwound her arms, and held her away from him so that he could look upon her. “You would dare to invite Leviathan’s anger?” 

“Yes!” she cried. “After what he's done to you; his favorite? Knowing as I do, that he wishes me unmade? I wish I had the power to help you end him!”

“What motivates you to dare so much?” he asked.  
“Lust?” He ran his fingers over her cheek. “Love? Love leads to pain. Your pleasure is my pain. Your pain is my pleasure. You seek my flesh, when you would do well to avoid my arousal at all costs. You seek my heart, when...”

He stopped speaking abruptly, and gripped her shoulders, but his expression was suddenly blank once more.

Her eyes widened. What was he saying? “When what?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed. “Why did you agree to submit to me?”

She took a deep breath, looked him square in the eye, and said, “When I was younger I thought I knew what love was, but now I realize how little I really know. You've scared the piss out of me for most of my life, but you've also saved me in so many ways. Without you motivating me, I might have gone mad, or given up on life.”

As she spoke, she felt the truth of her words, and as she did, the demon looked on; a small upturning of his mouth betraying how pleased he really was.

“If you hadn't haunted me, hounded me, taunted me, I wouldn’t have run. I wouldn't have been so determined to survive,” she continued. “You opened my eyes; showed me that death is not the answer. You made me want to live. As the years went by I came to trust in you. You're the only one who never lied to me. Manipulate yes; lie no. Whatever it is that I now feel for you… is powerful, and it exists in part because I know you feel it for me as well.”

He made a show of scowling, but his eyes gave him away; they'd lit up. “You dare to imply I am capable of such nauseating sentiment?” he asked.

She moved even closer to him, and placed her hands on his hips. “My flesh is yours; I give it to you freely.”

He seemed taken aback, and cupped her cheeks, as he leaned down towards her, His bottomless black eyes reflected her image like twin obsidian mirrors. “This is no longer about your flesh,” he entoned. “It is your spirit that speaks to mine. Do you think that I would allow any other to speak to me as you do, bargain with me as you do… vex me as you do? Do you?”

Kirsty stared at him for a moment, before losing the battle, and smiling sadly. “Little good our confessions are to us now.”

He seemed to be suppressing a smile of his own. “I am pleased that we are finally at an understanding. Now, we have only to make our escape.”  
He released her, and palmed the Lament Configuration, then strode away while gesturing for her to follow. They exited his cell, and moved down the corridor, coming to a stop before her cell. Without pause, the Priest threw the door open, and indicated she should enter, then followed and shut it behind him. Moving to her bed, he grasped one of the posts, and with a shocking display of strength, easily threw it across the room, and then propped the bed, mattress and all, against the door.

She was well aware that she was staring at him in amazement.

“I am ensuring that we will not be disturbed,” he explained, catching her expression. Then he moved to stand before her, and pointed towards one of the walls, just before guiding her to face it. “We must away, and quickly,” he continued. “The veil between realities is weak in your home due to the reasons I previously mentioned; however, with you here I can make no use of that weakness. You must pass through first, and then I shall be able to follow.”

Moving to stand behind her, he gently moved her forward until her nose was nearly touching the cold stone wall, and then placed the LaMerchand’s box into her hands. “Kirsty,” he whispered, “close your eyes, and use your other senses to orient yourself. Do you smell the wall?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Now feel the cold coming off it, the bareness of this cell.”

She nodded as she concentrated.

“In your mind, remember your bedroom, and imagine that it lies on the other side of this wall. Imagine that a peep hole has opened, and you are looking through it. Can you smell your room? Do you feel the warmth of it? Do you remember it exactly as you left it? See it through the peep hole”

In her mind, she was able to imagine the hole, and faint light coming from beyond it. She grew excited as she picked up a whiff of the asian spice home scent she favored, wafting through the hole. As she focused one eye, she could make out her bed on the far side of her room. 

“Good,” the Priest said from behind her. “The hole is widening. Now it is the size of a port hole.”

“I can see my bed and dresser,” she breathed. “My pictures are still on the wall over the bed, and I can even see the alarm clock.”

“Excellent. What time is it?” he asked.

She focused hard, trying to make out the numbers… and then she could see them. “It's nine-thirty-five!” she answered.

“Very good,” he whispered near her ear. “The opening is almost big enough to climb through, Kirsty. Before you do, tell me if you can read the seconds on your clock. Are they progressing? Concentrate on them until they do.”

Only then did she realize that the clock was indeed frozen. She frowned, and glared at it, willing it to advance. A few moments ticked by, and sweat began to bead her forehead, but finally, the seconds began to move. They ticked by slowly at first, but were soon up to normal speed. “I got it!” she exclaimed.

“Well done,” he sighed. “The way is open to you. Step through.”

She did so without hesitation, and found it to feel like she was stepping through a huge cobweb. Once through, she paused, overcome by happiness at being surrounded by her worldly possessions once more.

Before she could lose herself in the moment, the Priest’s voice echoed out of the darkness around her;  
“Kirsty….”

Before she could even react, the box in her hands began to spark, and the room was cast into darkness. Seconds later, the lights flickered back to life as the Hell Priest stepped out of the shadows, and stood before her once more.

He looked about him before focusing on her. “You have questions?” he asked.

She nodded, both thrilled, and terrified by the future looming before her. She set the Lament Configuration down on her nightstand and then approached him. “How long do we have before you need to go back?”

He moved closer, and placed a cold hand upon her shoulder. “I will eventually be summoned,” he replied. “I suspect that we will have less time than we would wish.”

“You said that you will end them,” she whispered. “Is there any way I can help?”

He looked stunned. “You, a mortal, wish to wage war on hell?” 

“Why not? There is so much I don't yet understand about it, but we're talking about the Gash, and other corrupt factions; not about Lucifer himself. There must be others in hell who would aid us!”

“And so did Eve tempt Adam, thus bringing about the destruction of paradise...” The Hell Priest actually sighed, holding her gaze a moment, before bending down so close that his breath was on her lips. She was transfixed by the intensity of his gaze. “I plan to bring them all down by myself. As for Lucifer; he has been missing for quite some time. I plan to find him, Kirsty, and supplant him!”

She gasped, petrified by what he planned. “That seems overly ambitious. Can't you stop just short of finding him?”

“No!” he snarled. “So long as he lives, I shall be unable to win the loyalty of his followers.”

“I'll never see you again,” she whispered, suddenly certain of it. Although she was well aware of his immense power, and even greater intellect, she could not conceive the possibility that anything born of man might topple the greatest of God's creations.

Surprisingly, his anger melted away as suddenly as it came, and he guided her to him for a kiss; his lips moving over hers softly, sensually, before shifting to whisper in her ear, “I know that you doubt my chances, but of this you may be certain; I will see you again before embarking on the final part of my journey.”

His eyes had softened considerably, and they looked at each other for an endless moment, their futures laid out before them. She leaned up to nibble on his left ear, drawing a sigh from him.

...She did so love his ears.

Then, she whispered into it, “Let's not waste the time we have left.”

With one arm, he easily swung her up into the air, his other hand encouraging her to wrap her legs about his waist. Then, he kissed her, plundering her mouth as his adornments scraped across her face. Showing his mastery of even this art of pleasure, he teased, and satisfied her in turn; his clever mouth traveling from ear to ear, forehead to neck.

She hardly even noticed the scrape of his nail heads, she was so enraptured. Her heart was pounding out of her chest, and her nether regions were aching as never before. Just the thought of this powerful creature being hers caused her flesh to break out in goosebumps. Taking a deep breath, she pulled away to look at him, while he regarded her with a knowing, amused expression. 

“Undress me,” she finally managed to gasp between breaths.

If he was the least bit surprised, he didn't show it; he merely set her back down on her wobbly legs, drew his gutting knife, and brought it up to her chest.  
Kirsty’s breath caught in her throat as the sharp, cold point touched her skin. Their eyes locked, as he regarded her through half lowered eyelids. Then a low, pleased sound escaped him as he shifted the blade, and pulled it downward, cutting through the laces of her leather bodice.

When the last lacing was severed, the bodice sprang completely open, and fell away, leaving her breasts exposed to him. The knife came back up, as he began to slowly circle the flat of the blade around her left nipple.

“Shit…,” she groaned, as she shivered at the cold, but arousing sensation.”

He cocked his head at her, a glimmer of amusement appearing in his expression. Hanging his knife at his hip, he grasped a handful of her gauzy skirt, and then used his considerable strength to suddenly tear the entire garment off her with a single powerful yank.  
He let out another small, pleased sound at the gasp that escaped her, before completely surprising her by dropping down on one knee. Encouraging her to lift her foot, he slid her high heeled boot off, and then did the same with the other one. Then, placing his hands on her calves, he slowly ran them up the outside of her legs until they came into contact with her black leather panties.

She found herself panting, she was so incredibly aroused, and when their eyes met, a wave of intense desire throbbed through her. Aching fiercely, she fought to remain steady; it would not do to let him have the upper hand until his piercing was removed. He had the strength to easily force himself on her, and she would not wish to die in such a way.

He began to slowly slide her remaining garment down, and leaned in close to inhale her fragrance as she was exposed to him. “Oh, Kirsty….” he sighed. “How your desire feeds my own...”

She dared to cut him off, “I am well acquainted with the power of your speech,” she husked. “But, it is not just your tongue that interests me right now.”

He shot her a look that spoke of retribution, and then, leaning in closer still, he exhaled, his cold breath ghosting over her heated core, and increasung the tremor in her legs. He quickly finished sliding her leather panties down to her ankles, and gave her an impatient look in the time it took her to step out of them.

Her hesitation was due to her racing thoughts; she was not looking forward to removing his shackles. Although he'd often lectured about the intense pleasure one might find in pain, she could not imagine that even he would relish what had to come next.  
Kirsty nearly jumped as he suddenly came to his feet, his expression now one of annoyance.

“Anxiety? Fear?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Where is the courageous woman who spent many years facing me down?”

“I'm still human; you can't expect me take any pleasure in hurting you.” She grasped the pin imbedded in his chin, and pulled his face close, before giving his lower lip a light nibble. 

The demon's eyes closed briefly, and then opened just enough to regard her, and she was thrilled to see some affection in their black depths. “Oh, how you vex me with your puritan concepts of pleasure,” he sighed. “Do not fear what is to come; make my unshakling part of the seduction.”

“She gulped audibly, as she tried to imagine how she would do as he'd requested.

Then he stepped back, and shockingly, used his fileting knife to sever the flayed strips of his chest rather than waste time unhooking them from the heavy leather of his corset. 

This caused her a great deal of anxiety, for she'd learned that these paired strips of three were the symbol of his rank. Aside from the Priest, only Channard had worn this rank, albeit temporarily.  
For him to do such a thing to his insignia was a clear sign that he was done with the Gash. She blinked, and chose to put the implications of what his possible success over hell might mean for humanity out of her thoughts for the moment. Besides, he was continuing to divest himself, and that was something deserving of her full attention.

He was in the process of reaching behind him, as his clever, graceful fingers quickly unlaced the back of the corset, before moving along to removing the chain that ran through the ring that pierced his navel, and served to anchor the tools that swung at his waist. He'd already placed said tools neatly upon her small desk. Once the chain was free of his naval ring, he dropped it upon the floor, and then unbuckled his collar, and sleeves. Finally, he peeled off the entire upper garment, before allowing it to fall to the floor.

“See something you like?” he deadpanned, having noted her lecherous stare.

She certainly did, but instead, she shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I see that I shall have to try harder to gain your approval.” His flatly spoken words were belied by the amusement evident in his deep voice.

Placing one foot at a time upon her side chair, he unbuckled each boot, and removed it. Then he reached behind him, and began unfastening the closure of his leather apron. “Impatient, are we?” he quipped, having noticing just how intently she watched him.

“Actually, I am,” she countered, then added, “Why must you always be so overdressed?”

He quickly dropped both his apron, and the skirt of his vestments, as he replied, “Easily remedied.” Then, before she could get a good look, he turned to face her armchair. 

Kirsty ended up getting a nice view of his back, ass, and legs, and found herself suppressing a moan. The cenobite leader had wide, strong shoulders, with his back tapering down to a slender waist, and slim hips. His arms, and legs were long in proportion to his body; toned, but lean. And as for his ass; well, there were models who would kill to have such a finely shaped, alabaster derrier. ...Then again; he'd been a soldier just before he’d been transformed into the cenobite leader he now was.

She swallowed hard, and forced her legs to move, as she approached him. When she was directly behind him, the Hell Priest glanced over his right shoulder, and she saw that one corner of his mouth was turned upwards in amusement. Then he swiveled around, sat upon her chair, and spread his legs apart as wide as it's arms would allow. Leaning back, he stared at her, his look challenging. “Come; the honor of freeing my flesh is yours alone,” he husked, his voice pitched even lower than usual.

Kirsty froze in place, unable to keep from blatently staring at the flesh in question. Even though she'd already had a brief look, things were now considerably different, for he wasn't just sporting an erection; he was sporting an achingly hard one. His thick, pale member was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and leaking blue-black blood where the razors were now embedded in his flesh. It wasn't the only thing he was leaking, either…

A mind-blowing hunger gripped her, and her need to have him propelled her to fall onto her knees between his legs. She wasted no time in grasping the base of his cold member with one hand, his PA ring with the other, and dipping her head to lick away his pre-ejaculate.

The demon jolted, and hissed as her tongue made contact, and she raised her eyes to see that he was watching her through lowered eyelids, and breathing hard; obviously not nearly as composed as he tried to let on.

He tasted of blood, and salt, and here, in this spot at least, he still smelled like a man.

Emboldened by his reaction, Kirsty began carefully stroking his lower shaft while licking, and sucking on the relatively small portion of his penis that would not bring her into contact with the razors. As she worked him, experimenting with different techniques, she kept stealing glances up at him.

As soon as his head tilted back, and his thighs began to tense, she knew her plan was going to succeed, and she redoubled her efforts. She worked him until his chest began heaving, but as soon as he began to groan, she let up and merely petted him. When he opened his eyes to stare at her accusingly, his teeth set in a grimace, she returned to pleasuring him.

She edged him in this way for quite some time, until their flesh wept for each other; until she felt she would go mad if she didn't immediately have him.  
She knew it was now or never....

The next time his head went back, and he lifted his hips, silently begging for release, she used both hands to grasp his shaft and PA ring tightly, and then used her molars to bite down on the left ring of razors. She felt two snap between her teeth, even as her lips were lacerated and her gums punctured. Then, she immediately tightened her bite, and yanked the entire bar to her right as quickly as she could.

The demon howled, his deep voice actually breaking when the other set of razors sliced through his member as the bar was pulled through his flesh. His hands gripped the armrests so tightly that the underlying wood frame snapped with a loud crack. His body trembled violently, his ruined penis spurting both blood, and semen, as the demon somehow still managed to achieve a macabre orgasm.

Shocked that he had managed to find such pleasure in so horrific an injury, Kirsty froze for a second, but then quickly plucked the offending ampallang bar from her mouth, tossed it away, and then straddling the still-writhing Cenobyte. Trapping his poor, mangled flesh between their bodies wrung another howl from him, but distracted him long enough for her to grasp his face and kiss him.

Her blood flowed copiously from her violated mouth, running into his, as she darted her tongue between his lips. 

He responded immediately, eagerly drinking her, even as pained gasps still escaped him. His tongue began wrestling with hers, and as he sucked her blood down greedily, his gasping gradually subsided, and gave way instead to small sounds of pleasure.

The Hell Priest was healing rapidly, and as his pained trembling abated, his arms came up; one hand pressed against her back, and the other supporting the back of her head, encouraging her to prolong their kiss. 

In a relatively short span of time, he was healthy, healed, and hard once more; pressing incessantly against her so that she nearly wept for joy.

As she ran her hands over his chest, she was amazed to find no trace of his flayed badge of rank; his chest was healed, and smooth.

The Hell Priest tore his mouth away, and fixed her with an adoring look. “Oh Kirsty; how you've exceeded my every expectation…” he murmured. 

She stared hard at him, but detected no sarcasm; it appeared that she really had pleased him well. “Then you forgive me for what I've done?” she asked.

He gave her a sly look. “You did exactly what I would have done, had I been able to; however, let us not waste time discussing this now. Now, it is my privilege to heal you...” 

Making a show of biting his own tongue, he slowly brought their faces together, and then kissed her softly, tenderly. His bloody tongue licked her lips, and the inside of her cheek, before gently probing her gums. Everywhere his tongue traced, her flesh tingled. He tasted salty, and metallic, but with a surprising electric undercurrent. Had her blood held the same qualities for him?

Her thoughts evaporated when he suddenly deepened the kiss, several of his nails digging into her face, but she didn't mind at all; her mouth no longer hurt. Her wounds were gone. 

A last, almost chaste kiss was pressed against her lips. “All better,” he rumbled in a low tone, a hint of humour clearly visible in his expression. “And now, where were we?”

She felt both weak, and light-headed at the thought that she might finally have him. She tried to seem unaffected, but quickly realized what a waste of effort that was considering how obviously she was trembling. 

Instead of climbing off him, and pulling him towards her bed, she pressed down and began rubbing herself back and forth against his erection, spreading their slickness all over him.

With a hiss making his impatience evident, the Hell Priest dug his fingers into her hips, and encouraged her to tilt her pelvis, and make firm contact. Once she engulfed his PA ring, he increased the pressure of his grip until it was painful, holding her in place. 

They stared at each other, for a few very tense seconds before he spoke. “Kirsty... “ His eyes lazily ran down her body to briefly stare at their point of contact before returning to her face. “Slowly, Kirsty,” he directed her, his voice deeper and breathier than she'd ever heard it. “Let us savor this sweetly needful joining of our flesh.”

As he relaxed his grip she complied, sinking slowly down over him as they continued to hold eye contact.  
Millimeter by millimeter he slid into her, stretching her deliciously. The slow, teasing encroachment quickly became too much for her to bear, and she struggled more than once to sink down more quickly. Yet, each time she tried, the Hell Priest’s grip on her would again tighten painfully, holding her to a slow pace.  
When, finally, she was pressed down upon his lap, and they were fully locked together, she ground against him, moaning at the sensation. 

...and the Hell Priest's self-control suddenly snapped.  
His arms moved up to encircle her, supporting, and holding her tightly, as he leaned forward. Then he began bucking into her rapidly, and deeply, a low, prolonged growl escaping him as he savagely fucked her.

Kirsty could only hold on for dear life, gasping in counterpoint to his thrusts. It was almost too much; he felt too damn good, his PA hitting her right where she most craved extra pressure. Her pleasure was already spiraling up to new heights, a never before seen summit looming up before her; she was going to scream when she hit it….

The demon suddenly stopped moving; buried to the hilt, he froze. His head was thrown back, mouth gaped open, as he soundlessly shuddered through an obviously intense orgasm. At the same time, she could feel him spilling inside her, pulsating even as a surplus of semen poured out of her to run onto the carpet below them.

When she desperately tried to finish by grinding against him, he suddenly pulled out.

“Oh no,” he gasped, still catching his breath, a triumphant look upon his face. “You still have much to atone for.”

“You bastard!” she cried, as he stood up, still holding her to him. Tears of frustration began tracking down her cheeks, as she struggled against him.

He chuckled darkly at the futility of her efforts. “Rejoice, for I am well pleased, and oh, the plans I have for you...”

With a single stride he reached her bed, dropped her upon it, and followed her down. Quickly straddling her, he leaned over, and pinned her arms above her head. Leaning down close, he whispered in her ear, “Finally, I have you where I want you; you are mine, to do with as I please.”

She turned her head and met his gaze, as a shock of fear jolted through her. She'd nearly, and foolishly forgotten that he was in point of fact a demon. Would he harm her after all? She managed to put on a false bravado, snapping, “Go on; do your worst!”

He responded by forcing his knees between her legs and lowering his hips to rest atop hers. She groaned as he pressed his regenerating hardness against her, but his next words left her reeling…

“I prefer to do my best,” he replied, before kissing her soundly. 

When he released her hands, she wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back, and growing drunk on the sensation. 

After a time, his mouth traveled to her left ear, pausing to lavish attention there before moving on to the side of her neck. He nibbled, licked, and even bit her lightly, and all the while, he pressed, and rubbed against her until she felt she would go mad with wanting him. When he worked his way down to her breasts, she began begging, “Please; oh please!”

“What is it that you desire?” he asked, smuggly, around a mouthful of nipple. “I want to hear you say it.”

“You; I want you!” she moaned shamelessly.

When he lifted his head, he wore a proud, but needful expression. “Then you shall have me,” he decreed, and wasted no time in brutally claiming her lips, even as he suddenly claimed her body.

Kirsty began trembling. He was thick enough that simply having him hilted within her at this angle was nearly enough to push her over the edge.

“With my body, I thee worship,” he breathed after breaking off their kiss. Then he began to move, slowly, oh so slowly, but with a grace and finesse that quickly brought her to an earth-shattering climax. All she could do was to cling to him, unaware of anything save for her pleasure, and the pair of beautiful, obsidian eyes that watched her intently.

He allowed her but a short respite, before flipping her over and taking her from behind. Curving over her, he lightly bit the back of her neck, and scraped his nails against her, as one hand leisurely teased her breast, before moving lower to lightly stroke her to another intense peak.

Even as she collapsed, exhausted, beneath him, he flopped over, and again gathered her to him.

Still catching her breath, she found herself draped passively over his body, her head resting on his shoulder, as he guided himself back into her.

What followed was the most languid, erotic encounter she'd ever experienced. With his arms lightly wrapped around her back, the Priest leisurely thrust upwards into her. There was no rush, and there seemed to be no clear goal to achieve climax. Kirsty felt that they simply were, in that endless moment, suspended in time; together. 

Soon, however, the feeling of growing pleasure returned, and the Priest's cold flesh did nothing to cool the heat building within her. She was aware that his breathing, like her own, had quickened. Still, he continued to move languidly.

They came together, their pleasure drawn out, and rolling over them in waves. Afterwards, Kirsty fell asleep, still draped over her demon lover.

\--------------------

She eventually became aware that she was in a warm, and so very comfortable place, although she vaguely recalled having felt cold earlier on. In the hazy place between sleep and wakefulness, she floated contentedly for a short while, until memories began to intrude. Opening her eyes, she sat up with a start, and searched for him.

He was sitting in her arm chair watching her with an amused expression. “Yes; I am still here,” he rumbled.

She smiled as she took in his appearance, and recalled their night together. He was only wearing the skirt of his vestments, but looked much more alive in the blushing hues of the early morning light.

Realizing that she desperately needed to pee, and blushed bright red, she scrambled naked out of bed.

“The physics of this reality have again taken hold of you,” she heard him explain as she passed by him on her way to the bathroom. “You should have some water, and food whilst you are up, and about,” he advised.

When finished, she washed her hands, and face, then spared a moment to take in her reflection in the mirror, surprised by how well she looked. Truth be told, the nausea, and other symptoms of her cancer were notably still missing.

After wrapping a towel around herself, she exited the bathroom, and found him standing before the large window in the livingroom, watching the traffic build on the roadways.

“Do you need anything?” she asked, moving into the kitchen. Receiving a negative response, she quickly poured, and downed a glass of water. Then she checked the refrigerator, and was pleased to see that nothing had gone bad during her absence.  
Although it seemed to her as if many months had passsed in hell, here on earth it could not have been more than a week.

Leaning in, she began retrieving sandwich fixings as she called to her lover, “Are you certain you don't need anything?”

She just about jumped out of her skin when he spoke from right behind her, “I no longer require such sustenance.”

Spinning around, and straightening up, she noted the way his eyes were running over her body, and swallowed hard at the realization that his lust had only been temporally slaked. 

Putting the food down on the counter, she retrieved a plate and began putting together a sandwich as she pondered his state of being. “How can you have material form, and yet exist without any food or drink? You do have to breathe after all.”

He stood close enough behind her that when he answered, his breath was on her neck; “I am not alive,” he replied. “I simply am. I draw my energies from hell, and am tethered to it by the box. It is fortunate that you still have the one I gifted you by way of your departed husband.”

She ignored his little dig, and all but inhaled the sandwich while standing at the counter, following it up with another glass of water. As she did so, she had a sudden thought.

“Angelique was summoned to our world, and clothed in human flesh,” she eventually said. “Couldn't I perform the same ritual for you? Then you would be free in this world.”

He smiled sadly. “Free? Would you enslave me in order to keep me with you? Bend me to your will?”

“No; I couldn't do that to you,” she finally admitted. 

“It gladens me to hear it,” he replied, before moving past her, and making his way into the bathroom.  
Following a moment later, she was surprised to see that he had stripped off his skirts, and was stepping beneath the running shower.

She stared at him as he stood under the spray, his eyes closed, and his hips tipped forward, with the water running over him in torrents. “What are you doing?” she managed to ask, completely surprised.

His incredible eyes opened, and he regarded her as though she was a juicy morsel, before he held his hand out to her, and said, “Let us not waste the time we have left.”

She wasted no time in dropping her towel, and stepping forward to take his hand. In an instant she was swept up, and encouraged to wrap her legs about his hips. A kiss was the sweet reward for her compliance, while he wasted no time in burying himself to the hilt within her. 

“Lean back against the wall,” he instructed, barely lifting his lips away. She complied, and before she could comprehend what he was up to, he'd reached up to snatch down the hand-held shower head, and directed its pulsating stream onto her most sensitive area.

She squawked with surprise at the intense sensation, but then ground down upon him, and groaned.

“Oh yes,” he sighed, and then composed himself. “I shall remain still within you, so that I may feel your every ripple and spasm. The sensation of your climax will be a symphony of perfection.”

She moaned loudly, as her pleasure mounted quickly; his voice and words escalating her arousal. Looking down, she took in the view where the spray jetted against the place where they were joined, and moaned again as her lust ramped up another notch. She felt herself swelling and tightening further around him, and he gritted his teeth before speaking again. 

“It shall be such sweet torture to endure your pleasure,” he husked. “But you shall reward me on your knees once you are finished, won't you, my dear, sweet Kirsty?”

“Yes!” she gasped, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. She was so tight; wound up like a clock spring about to snap, and judging by her lover’s answering gasp, he was certainly enjoying the sensation.

She returned her gaze to his face, and was amazed to see that his usual, stoic expression was gone, and in its place was one of erotic extremis. His decision not to move was obviously costing him dearly, and yet, the ebony eyes that met her gaze were for once so soft, so adoring, that she was jolted over the brink.

Kirsty wailed as she came; her orgasm so intense she thought she would shatter. She clung weakly to her demonic lover, and he dropped the shower head, holding her close while she contined to shudder and contract around him. 

When she began to recover, and catch her breath, she became aware that he was panting heavily, and his fingers were clutching her in a bruising grip. His expression was one of pure lust. Deep within, she could feel him; hard as iron.

Picking up on his desperation, she unwrapped her legs, even as he lifted her off himself, and then set her back on her feet. She quickly knelt before him, and immediately took as much of his throbbing member into her mouth as she could. 

At once, his legs began to tremble, and he leaned back against the shower wall for support. When she ran a hand up, over his belly, she could feel how his abdominals were tensing, and knew he was not going to last much longer. 

A minute later, with his PA ring tickling the back of her throat, he clutched her shoulders, and outright bellowed his pleasure.

For a few seconds they stared at each other, as she licked her lips, and he caught his breath. Then, he helped her up, and together they left the shower.  
As she towelled off, she was surprised to see that he was already dry. Upon noting her expression, he gave her a canny look, and explained that he'd used a minor spell he'd learned a while back. Then he suddenly turned his head sharply, before heading back to her bedroom.

She walked in just in time to see him stop next to her nightstand, and place his hand on the Lament Configuration, as he regarded it.

Then he lifted his eyes to her, and said, “I am summoned.”

\----------------------------  
Their final coupling was slow, poignant, and heartbreaking. They took their time exploring and memorizing each other, knowing it could be their last time together.

Afterwards, he rose from the bed, and was suddenly back in his vestments. Kirsty left the bed, and threw herself into his arms one last time, lifting her face to receive a final, bittersweet kiss.

“You will see me again, Kirsty,” he declared. “Do not despair.”

“It's a waste of good suffering?” she quipped through her tears.

He nodded, and it seemed as though he wanted to say something, but in the end he merely nodded, and put her away from him.

And just like that, she was alone. Her demon lover had simply vanished. Her damp eyes searched for the Lament Configuration, but with a start she realized it too was gone. He'd removed her means of summoning him.

Or perhaps removed the means by which she might be tracked.

=====================

The days immediately following the Hell Priest's departure went by slowly. for Kirsty. 

She worked out that in all the time she was in hell, she'd been gone from Earth just three days. Once she understood that she hadn't been fired, she went in to work and promptly quit. Life was too short to deal with such misery. At the time she'd planned on finding herself a better job.

She decided not to go back to her oncologist, knowing that her miraculous recovery from pancreatic cancer would raise too many eyebrows. Instead, she found a new general practitioner, and as expected, following a full physical, was given a glowing bill of health. She was also given some news she had not expected; she was pregnant.

She began living frugally off her inheritance, having decided that she would rather not work while raising a child. 

During the day, she thought about the child growing within her, and worried. She suspected that the Hell Priest not only knew of her pregnancy, but had intentionally sought to sire a child on her, and she had to wonder why. She could not believe that her condition was an accident, that such a creature as he would be able to accidentally impregnate. Was he wanting some part of himself to carry on should he perish? Did he do it to ensure she would not be alone? Or, was the child some part of his great work? 

Hopefully, he would one day answer her questions.

At night, she found her thoughts always turning towards her missing demon lover. Life was so strange. Her life was so much stranger; She'd spent so many years running from him, and now she wanted nothing more than to run to him. She wondered when they would meet again, never for an instant doubting that he would keep his word on it, but, he no longer visited her in her dreams, and she feared greatly for him. It could be that he kept his distance at all times in order to protect her. It was also possible that his punishment had been so brutal as to incapacitated him for some time.

Kirsty also worried about his vision, his great work, and what his success would mean for heaven, hell, and the earth between. His intentions might be good, but… well, everyone knew that old saying.

Four months later, she was overjoyed that her ultrasound results showed that her child appeared to be a perfectly normal female. Nothing was certain where a demon’s offspring was concerned, but so far there was no evidence of any inherent evil. 

She began going to church. Oh how her lover would laugh at that!

Also, for the first time since she was a teenager, she began making friends, no longer terrified that they would be short-listed to hell. There was a thirty-something woman living on the first floor whom she'd particularly hit it off with; Madeline.

She felt guilty for having taken her up on her offer to babysit any ti me she was needed, after all; the poor dear had no idea whose child she would be caring for!

She spent the last four months of her pregnancy getting her life in order, and preparing for motherhood. It would have been better to move to a two bedroom unit, but she remained in her old apartment, as she knew moving could make it impossible for the Cenobite to find her. Without a Lament Configuration, he would need to rely on the weakened veil in her residence.

Her anxiety over her missing lover, and the possible nature of their offspring was mitigated the night that their daughter was born. 

Maddie accompanied her to the hospital once she was certain that she was in labor, and less than six hours later she gave birth to the small, perfectly formed little girl. She hadn't cried once while entering the world.

From the very beginning, the child's eyes were open and taking in her new surroundings. She was the most beautiful thing Kirsty had ever seen; with large, wide set blue eyes, and a shock of dark hair. Despite her unnatural composure, the baby appeared to be fully human, and bore a very strong resemblance to her father as he'd once been during in his mortal life. She also had many of her mother's traits; her nose, mouth, and the shape of her face.

After Maddie had taken a turn holding, and admiring the infant, she gave Kirsty an odd look.

“What?” she asked her friend.

Maddie looked uncomfortable. “I dreamed this,” she finally admitted. “I had a dream last night that I held this very baby in my arms.”

Kirsty felt a sense of foreboding. “Go on,” she encouraged her friend. “What else did you dream?”

Maddie gave a nervous laugh. “I'm not crazy; I swear!” She gave Kirsty a reassurring look, and then continued, “I had just commented on the baby's eyes, and asked you for the hundreth time about her father, when the door blew wide open, and… a man with the same eyes as the baby walked in and took her from me.”

Kirsty's heart was beating out of her chest. She knew it was much more than a dream. “Go on,” she managed to say.

Maddie sighed, and looked embarrassed. “As I was watching him, he only had eyes for you. He looked at you… like… Well, corny as it sounds, he looked at you with this incredible yearning on his face. And then, even though you were right there, he told me to tell you that her name is Aliyah.”

Before Kirsty could say anything, her friend added, “I looked at you, and when I turned back, he had lost all his color… his eyes turned black, and there were nails in his head! I screamed, but he just turned his eyes to the baby and kissed her little head!”

Tears welled in her eyes as she heard Maddie’s tale. “What else?” she again prompted her friend.  
“The baby squealed like she was overjoyed to see him… and then I woke up.” 

Kirsty asked to have the baby back, and then spent several long minutes looking into the attentive blue eyes that were watching her back. The silence stretched awkwardly between her and Maddie, until her friend asked, “So; have you decided on a name yet?”

Kirsty smiled up at her. “You heard her father; her name is Aliyah.”

=====================

The demon paced the confines of his cell, frustrated over his continued incarceration, but the thwarting of his great work was nothing compared to his desire to see his lover, and child.

After some time, his cool sense of reason again held sway, and he calmed and gingerly sat himself upon his stone throne.

His previous adornments were nothing in comparison to the heavy devices now imbedded in his flesh. The reminder of his most recent chastizement was humiliating, and served to intensify his loathing for his old way of life. The Order and its members were beneath him, and Leviathan was a petty demigod undeserving of his respect. 

Having had a taste of heaven, he was no longer content with servitude to an absent ruler, who was still being worshipped in absentia for having created this monstrous parody of life.

He'd always guessed that love was the most destructive force in existance, and he now knew it to be true. He would rebuild hell, and all for the love of a mortal woman. He'd foreseen the possibilty of his downfall; his own personal fall from grace on a day many years ago when he'd struck his first bargain with the young, traumatized girl who would go on to become the reason for his great work.

Soon, very soon, he would begin running the world's greatest magicians to ground. He would wrest their secrets from them, adding their power to his own, and then fashion a new reality; one in which Kirsty ruled as his queen, from her throne on Earth.

If he failed….

Well, he'd made certain that his few surviving enemies would be blind-sided by the part of himself he left with Kirsty.

Before his plan reached it's critical point, he would be certain to see his lover one last time.

He would not die without a final taste of heaven.

FIN.


End file.
